The One I Loved Most
by dippydog18
Summary: 'You never believe in ghosts or hauntings or God, for hat matter. But I believe in ghosts. I have to now because I am one,' Sherlock is dead and it is now his job to give John his life back. But what can Sherlock do when John is unwilling to accept the truth? JOHNLOCK. One shot. This is a second upload because I edited it but it didn't change the uploaded one


**The** _italics_ **is Sherlock's POV and the _bold italics_ are John's POV. Please read a review, it means a lot - dippydog18**

* * *

Sherlock looked over at John and had to watch him cry. He was all alone in the cruel world. And it broke Sherlock to watch his best friend weep over his grave and know that he was never going to come back. Because Sherlock Holmes is dead. And no amount of dreaming from John Watson was going to change that. But don't think for one second that that stopped him. John Watson wasn't the type to just give up. Sherlock's shimmering image began to fade when John turned around and looked straight though him. A tear fell from John's eye and landed on the soil in front of the gravestone. Sherlock opened his mouth and a sound he had never heard before came out. It was the sound of a heart breaking.

With that John stood up, shakily. He reached for his walking stick and whipped the tears from his cheeks. Since Sherlock's death John's limp had returned. And it was worse than it had ever been. Sherlock floated after John wishing his could break his friend from the cruel weight of guilt and wasted love that dragged him down. But Sherlock was powerless now. John couldn't see him. John couldn't hear him. John couldn't touch him. So how was he supposed to help?

_You can deny it all you want, John, but I'm gone. You need to move on. Pining after me will become boring soon enough, you'll see. You need to start again. Try to forget the pain I put you through. But please don't forget me. That would tear me apart. You never believed in ghosts or hauntings or God, for that matter. But I believe in ghosts. I have to now because I am one. And it turns out all those ghost stories were based on the tiniest slither of the truth. When you die you don't haunt a soul. You become attached to the person you loved most in your life. And that's you, John. You're the one I loved most. I hope you're flattered. Compliments from me are a rare thing. _

_You're my best friend John Hamish Watson. And I love you for that. But you need to start living your life again. I'm not so vain that I think I was the only important thing in your life. But I'm also not stupid enough to think you wouldn't grieve me. I know I was a huge part your life. But you can't have that back. Not now. Not ever. I never told you this, John, but you were my rock. You have no idea how messed up I was before you walked into my life. You were my life force. And now I am dead you can take another person into your life. You are more than just my best friend John. You're the reason I lasted so long. You held my life in your hands so many times and you didn't even know. You were there to reassure me. You were there to hold my hand in the dark. You were always there. Always. For forever and a day. And now I'm going to return the favour. _

_You know the rumours about our relationship. They never bothered me but I know they bothered you. You care too much about public image. There were moments I knew those rumours were true. I saw how you looked at me. And I noticed how I looked at you. But that was then and this is now. I'm dead, John, whether you like it or not and I'm not going to let you cry over my grave forever. Ask _someone_ out John! Someone, anyone, I don't care! Try that boring teacher or give Sarah a call. Just don't sit in our flat alone._

_Share your grief with Molly. Or Mycroft. Or Lestrade. Or Mrs Hudson. Or Stamford. Meet up with your sister. Just talk to someone. Even that useless physiatrist would be better than nothing. You can't go on like this, John. You're going to tear yourself apart if you don't change soon. Please, John. For me._

_And you'll see me soon enough. If I am still the most important person in your life then you can come to me when your time comes. Don't pity me, John Watson. I talk to my mother. I visit my father. I play the violin. I correct Lestrade at crime scenes because he can't hear me. I visit all the places I wish I'd gone when I was alive. And I watch over you. I watch you eat, sleep and go to work. I watch you live your life. You'll see me soon enough, John Hamish Watson. But until then, I love you._

John shuddered. Taking a deep breath he walked into the morgue. Molly was there looking into an expensive microscope. She looked up and smiled meekly at John trying to hide her surprise.

"Hi," she said, with as much fake brightness as she could muster,

"Hey," John said and he pulled up a chair. Sherlock smiled.

* * *

John straightened his tie and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Bracing himself he knocked on the door. He heard shoes on a wooden floor. Then the sleek black door opened.

"Hello, John," Mycroft stepped aside and welcomed him in,

"Thanks," John replied and entered the house. Sherlock smiled.

* * *

John tapped his watched and sipped his beer. He swung his legs slightly on the bar stool. Lestrade walked in and he stood up. They shook hands,

"Good to see you, John," Lestrade said, sitting on a stool and taking a large gulp of beer. John smiled.

"You too," Sherlock smiled.

* * *

The kettle boiled. The smell of freshly baked cookies filled the flat. John inhaled, breathing in the sweet scent. He rang the doorbell rocking on his feet. Mrs Hudson rushed to the door.

"Hello love," She said bustling him inside, "Do you want some tea?" He nodded sinking into an armchair in her living room.

"Some biscuits if you have some, too," Mrs Hudson tutted.

"Not you housekeeper!" She replied but she brought him a streaming mug and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Sherlock smiled.

* * *

Mike sat on the park bench with two cardboard cups of coffee. He handed one to John who took it happily. He took a mouthful too large.

"Oh shit," he muttered. Stamford laughed,

"Alright mate?"

"Yeah fine. I just burnt my tongue," And he began to talk. Sherlock smiled.

* * *

John scanned the address book. Harry was constantly changing her phone. John just hoped she'd kept her latest mobile for over two months. Anxiously he pressed call. It rang three times before Harry picked up.

"John?" John nodded then remembered Harry couldn't see him,

"That's me,"

"You okay?"

"I will be," Choking back tears Sherlock smiled.

_I love you, John,_

_**I love you too**._

**THE END**


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